


Take Care of Him

by hitokiri



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angry Randy, Hurt Christian, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Christian's In Ring Return, Protective Randy, Regretful Randy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24759625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitokiri/pseuds/hitokiri
Summary: Randy feeling regretful for what he did to Christian.
Relationships: Christian Cage/Randy Orton
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Take Care of Him

**Author's Note:**

> I will fight anyone that tells me Randy doesn't have at least a LITTLE BIT of gay feelings for Christian. I saw it years ago, and believe me, they're still there now. The way he cradled his face... the way he tugged on his hair... the way he gently uncrossed his legs and just kept touching him and djhsghfjd that entire thing screamed "Randy's gay feelings for Christian" and I will carry that scene with me to my grave. I swear I thought he was going to kiss him!

Randy holds himself in the corner of the ring as he watches the medics work to get Christian gently rolled onto the stretcher. He clenches his fists tightly around the ropes to keep himself from moving, from advancing towards them to make sure Christian gets the proper care he needs.

To make sure they treat him the way he deserves, the way Randy didn’t.

He hates what he did; he hurt Christian and hurt himself in the process because Christian’s his friend. Christian is one of his most important people and he…

Stamping his foot on the mat, the whole ring shakes and the medics look up, both of them with fear in their eyes. The fear has been there since they carefully slid into the ring to check on his unconscious friend. They’d eyed him warily just like they’re doing now and Randy hates himself, just that little bit, that he did this to someone so important to him, that the two men meant to help Christian are afraid to make any sudden movements lest it set Randy off.

God forbid if Christian makes a single noise of pain.

The thought has Randy seeing red.

“Take care of him, get him out of here!” he growls, setting them in motion. He leans his back against the turnbuckle and grips the ropes tighter, holding on for dear life to keep him from halting the process of getting Christian to a medical professional. He needs Christian out of there _now_.

His voice got them going -- Randy remaining still in the corner of the ring letting them work gave them confidence -- and they get Christian onto the stretcher safely and carefully. He breathes a soft sigh of relief as they get him out of the ring and carry him backstage, presumably to a waiting ambulance.

Only once they’re out of sight does he relax his grip on the ropes and dare take a step forward. He looks around at all the eyes on him and then leaves the ring and hurries backstage to the sound of Voices; it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.

Heading in the direction of the exit, not even bothering to go for the locker rooms where all his things are, he follows the path he knows the medics took to get Christian to safety. He catches up just as they’re loading him into the ambulance and he stops them as they’re shutting the door. “Wait,” he says. They pause, look up at him in fear, and he continues, “Please. Let me. I just need to see him.” He’s a far cry from the Apex Predator that was willing to hurt Christian irreparably in the ring tonight. He was willing to do whatever it took to win that match, and he didn’t care who he hurt in the process, even if it was Christian.

They step aside and -- against their better judgment, Randy knows -- let him climb into the ambulance. He sits beside Christian and grabs his taped hand, touches his shoulder with his other. He looks so fragile strapped to the stretcher, the brace around his neck. He looks small, broken. Because of _Randy_. Randy did this to him and he’s never felt so much regret in his life.

_He wasn’t even cleared to wrestle_ , one of the voices pipes up in his head. _So you challenged him to the_ one _match that he was allowed to compete in. You_ wanted _this to happen._

_No_ , he thinks. _No, I_ \--

_And now he’s hurt because of you. He was_ safe _when he was away from you. You_ broke _him._

_NO! He did this to himself!_

“You get that, right? Right, Christian?” he pleads, gripping the short blond hair again, curling his big fist in it, like he’s done so many times before. God, Christian, wake up. “This is your fault, right? Do you understand?” His voice is trembling, but loud. “I never wanted to hurt you, never, not like this…”

“Uh,” a sheepish voice comes from somewhere to his left. His eyes don’t leave Christian’s unconscious face. “We’ve gotta get him to the hospital. He needs a CT Scan. We need to make sure he hasn’t had any lasting head trauma…”

_Head trauma_ plays on repeat in his mind and he wants to punch something. He wants to hurt someone like he hurt Christian. Fuck. He drops his head gently to Christian’s shoulder and rests his forehead there, breathing him in. His hand releases Christian’s and slides along his stomach and curls around his waist in something close to a hug and he just holds him. He doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll be there after your CT Scan, Christian,” he whispers against his shoulder, lips grazing the fabric of his shirt. His fingers squeeze his hip gently then release. He retracts his arm and slowly pulls away. “I’m gonna be there when you wake up.” He leans forward and kisses Christian’s sweaty forehead and smooths his hair back one more time before he gets up and hops down from the ambulance. “Take care of him,” he repeats to the two medics he frightened before, and walks off to the locker rooms, fuming.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's short. Didn't want anything to happen while Christian was unconscious. Now I really just wanna write a series of Randy/Christian. I need help. Let me know what you thought!


End file.
